Christmas Bells: The Dickens' Tale in Bohemia!
by Cohen's Chicas
Summary: On one magic night, Benny is visited by the ghosts of his past, who try to convince him to reform before its too late.  Set 7 years or so after Rent.  Bennycentric, with Boho cameos.  I would love lots of feedback on this! Canon pair, with some BennyMimi.
1. Hell, It's Christmas Eve

**(A/N: I must be butter, 'cause I'm on a fanfic-roll! Haha, I've always wanted to say that .. well here's my first attempt at a multi-chapter. It should be complete some time around Christmas .. you know, the holiday spirit and all. Benny isn't my fav character, and I don't really have a great grasp on his POV, but it's an attempt. Enjoy!)**

Chapter One: Hell, It's Christmas Eve

Benjamin Coffin the Third was tired. Not just in the physical sense, but in a whole: he was a bitter, tired man, and he wanted out. Roger, Collins and Mimi had all passed on. Collins was the first to go- perhaps it was for the best, for he was finally with his Angelcake again. Benny couldn't help but smile at the memory of those two- the only Bohemians who still spared him a shred of respect. Roger and Mimi each went within a week of each other, leaving their HIV-infected daughter in the care of Mark, Maureen and Joanne.

Benny sighed. His beautiful Mimi had died without any dignity to her name: it was a long, drawn-out process. He couldn't stand seeing her get paler and weaker with each passing day, watching the light in her liquid chocolate eyes dull fade into a flat brown. She left first, leaving Roger to die only a week later. After Mimi died, Benny had entered a state of extreme depression that resulted in Allison divorcing him. To pay the bills, he had been forced to start up an insurance company, Coffin Life Insurance **(A/N: haha, that's really ironic.)** which had become extremely successful. Benny sighed again. That whole month had been horrible for everyone- especially Miranda.

Miranda looked so much her mother it hurt: she had Mimi's mocha skin, long dark hair, and beautiful chocolate eyes. She was born with the disease: when her parents died, the combined salaries of Mark, Maureen and Joanne could barley pay for her AZT. The last time he had checked, the three remaining bohemians were all living together, trying to make it work.

"Ben- I mean, Mr. Coffin?"

Benny was jolted from his train of thought by his secretary, who was none other than Mark Cohen.

"Mr. Coffin, um, its about closing time," Mark reminded him. After Mark's movie had lost at Sundance, he had been forced to enter the corporate world due to lack of money. Unfortunately, Mark had morals, and was therefore still stuck in the secretarial position after 4 years.

"Yes, Cohen, I've realized its closing time," Benny snapped, wincing internally. He knew that Mark hated him with a burning, unquenchable passion, and feeding the flame with his attitude wasn't helping. _Give the poor boy a break, _Benny's internal Angel chided him. _He wants to go home to what family he has left. After all, it is Christmas Eve._

"Um, right," Mark mumbled, "Listen, Mr. Coffin, tomorrow's Christmas, and I was wondering if I could – could have p-part of the day o-off?" Mark faltered under Benny's severe glare.

"No, Cohen, you cannot have 'part of the day off.' Have you every gotten 'part of the day off' before?" Benny hissed. _Sugar, calm down! _The internal Angel tried to soothe him.

"Um, yes, I've realized that, but Roger's will have been dead 5 years tomorrow, and we were thinking of bringing Miranda to his grave, you know, to show her - "

"Honestly, Cohen, I could not care less about Miranda or Roger, or anything to do with _that_, thank you very much!" Benny spat, his internal Angel gently calling him out all the while: _You do care, Honey. You care a whole lot._

_Shut up! _Benny yelled back at her. _I don't care! These people don't give a shit about me, so why the hell should I give a shit about them, huh? _ The imaginary Angel had no answer to that, and Benny turned his attention back to Mark.

"I will expect you here at 7 o'clock on the dot tomorrow morning, Cohen. Don't be late."

Mark sighed. "Okay," he mumbled in defeat. Dejectedly, he packed up his things and turned to leave the office. Abruptly, he paused. Benny studied his face. It was an odd mixture of anguish and derisive anger; he opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to yell at Benny, but closed it again, defeated. Then, with the air of someone forcing himself to do something very unpleasant:

"Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, and all that jazz," Mark choked out, grimacing as he said it.

"Yeah, yeah," Benny mumbled, busying himself with his papers. The tinkling of the bell on his door, told him that Mark had left.

"Bah humbug," he added to himself, chuckling internally at his amazingly pessimistic outlook. In a blast from the past, Roger's words came echoing back to him: _What happened to Benny? What happened to his heart, and the ideals he once pursued?_

_Wish he could see the great Benjamin Coffin now, _Benny mused bitterly as he locked up the store for the night and set off down 56th street to his lonely penthouse apartment. En route, he passed a flock of homeless people, brandishing their cups like futile weapons against the cruel, erratic city they lived in. Benny merely shrugged them off as he climbed the steps his building, hastily squashing the small bubble of guilty that had risen within him. Then, he froze.

For a single heartbeat, the small patch of mold on the apartment door had looked different. It had not been shaped like a lopsided butterfly, but an eerily familiar face.

_Roger._

Benny blinked. The features had been perfectly ingrained into the penicillin; even Roger's hair had been arranged into the casual state of curly disarray he was so famous for. Benny was sure, _so sure_, that his old friend had been calmly smirking at him. But mold couldn't randomly change shape into ghosts of your past …

_Could it?_

Benny shook himself as he bolted up the stairs. He was just tired, that was all. He had had a long day, and the lamplight must have hit the door at an odd angle. He was just letting all his dark thoughts get to him. _It was just a trick of the light, _he kept repeating to himself. _You're not insane- just tired. _Once he had reached the safe haven of his apartment, Benny sunk into one of his armchairs with a bottle of Stoli and let himself unwind. He chuckled slightly at his panic before. That is, he chuckled until the thumping started.

At first, Benny thought it was the washing machine. It was a dull, low thumping, growing steadily louder all the time. However, it was not coming from the direction of his laundry room, but his penthouse door.

_Its just someone moving some furniture in the hallway, _Benny tried to reassure himself as he glanced nervously at the door. Yet the thumping grew louder and louder, faster and faster. As Benny began to sweat, it grew louder and faster still! He clapped his hands over his ears, trying to drown out the thumping, which grew louder, louder, louder …

Then, it stopped.

And all the clocks started chiming at once.

Benny sat, terrified in his faux leather armchair, as all his clocked began to chime daintily as he heard a horrible scarping noise outside him door. It sounded like something heavy being dragged over a painstakingly long distance. The clocks were all silenced at once as the door swiftly banged open.

Benny's scream turned to a gasp of horrified recognitions.

"You," he choked out.

"Me," the ghost of Roger Davis said calmly as he lowed himself into Benny's other armchair.

**(A/N: GAHH! What will happen next? I think I did an okay job in this chapter .. especially with all the Roger suspense. Next chapter: Benny and Roger's ghost have a little chat. It should be pretty funny, with our favorite badass emo rock star being back from the dead and all .. ; )**


	2. Truth Like a Blazing Fire

**(A/N: I got the mandatory 3 reviews for me to update, so here's the next chappie! It should be pretty funny, with Roger being back from the dead and all .. Enjoy!)**

Chapter Two: Truth Like a Blazing Fire

Benny's scream turned to a gasp of horrified recognition.

"You," he choked out.

"Me," the ghost of Roger Davis said calmly as he lowed himself into Benny's other armchair.

Benny stared, horrified and disbelieving. It was the same old Roger- the same curly hair, frayed sweatshirt, and tight plaid pants. Yet he was transparent; Benny could see the fake leather of his chair through Roger's stomach. And unlike the live Roger, he was covered in chains. Benny recoiled slightly as he noticed them. Cold, hard, unyielding chains that attached his guitar to the unreachable place on his back and his pick to the back of his hand.

The ghostly Roger propped his feet up on Benny's glass coffee table and grabbed his bottle of Stoli.

"You know, for someone whose head is so far up his ass, your taking this rather calmly," Roger stated matter-of-factly as he attempted to drink the Stoli. It merely passed through his body and drizzled onto Benny's armchair. Benny swallowed, and attempted to ask the only question he could summon up in his mind.

"Are y-you r-real?" he mouthed.

"If I was real, I would be able to drink this motherfucking Stoli," Roger grumbled, glaring at the empty bottle. He glanced up at Benny. "Oh, you mean whether or not I'm actually here. Well, yes, the ghost of Roger Davis is here, Benny-boy, and you better make yourself comfortable, 'cause we are going to have a little chat."

"Oh."

Roger laughed. "'Oh' is right." He stretched and folded his hands behind his head.

Benny's logical mind took over. _Roger is dead! He can't be here! You saw him go six feet under! You just drank some bad Stoli, that's all. After all, you are tired. You are tired and overworked, and probably just dreaming._

"I don't believe in you," Benny said firmly, staring the figment of his imagination dead I the eye.

Roger cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that?"

Benny's laugh bordered on hysteria. "Because its impossible! There is no such thing as ghosts! I was at your funeral; I saw you get buried! You are just a figment of my imagination, induced by some bad Stoli! You're just-"

He was cut off by a terrible, bone-chilling wail. Benny quaked in his seat, terror flooding through him. He knew that cry. It was the same cry he had heard when April had died, when Roger was in the midst of withdrawal, when Mimi lay on her deathbed. It was Roger's cry of utter despair.

"Now do you believe in me?" Roger panted, trying to catch his breath.

"Y-yes," Benny peeped.

Roger smiled, satisfied. "Good." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So … what's all this I hear about you not letting Mark off from work tomorrow to bring my daughter to my grave?"

Benny cleared his throat. "He has to c-come in. We have a very important new c-client, and its just-" he protested weakly, but was cut off again.

"Yeah, I'm sure this new important client is so much more important than a dying little girl wanting to visit her daddy's grave," Roger snarled, suddenly angry. He attempted to stand, but one of his guitar's pegs was stuck in the pleather. "Dammit," he growled, trying to jiggle the peg out.

"Um, if you don't mind me a-asking, what's w-with the chains?" Benny asked quietly, not wanting to instigate Roger's famous rage.

Roger looked up, surprised. "These?" He looked at the unfeeling metal shackles that separated him from his life and smiled grimly. "These, my friend, were formed during my short time here. Every time I shot up, or blamed someone else for my problems, or whatever, one of these links was formed. Now, they punish me by keeping me away from my music." He sighed, dejected. "The afterlife is a bitch, let me tell you."

He looked Benny dead in the eye. "You'll have these, too. Once you're done polluting the planet with your evil existence, you'll get to spend an eternity locked up in chains … with me by your side. Fun, eh?"

"B-but I never shot up or anything! Why-"

"You get chains for doing bad things, and trust me, you've done enough to give you a chain twice this size, easy."

Benny gulped. "I don't want-"

Roger cut him off. "No one gives a shit what you want. Might as well figure that one out now, before it's too late. Now …" He stood up and pulled a transparent list out of his pocket. "Okay, at midnight, the Ghost of Christmas Past is gonna come and give you a tour of your past Christmases. At one, the Ghost of Christmas Present is gonna take you for a spin around the neighborhood to show how other people are celebrating. At last, but not least, the Ghost of Christmas future is gonna come at two, and tell you how you're life is gonna end up if you don't stop fucking up. Any questions?"

Benny gulped. "Wait, I don't need anymore ghosts! I'll change now, we don't need to involve all these other dead people!"

Roger grinned. "Unfortunately for you, its not that easy. Oh well." He paused abruptly, cocking his head, listening to something that only he could hear. "Okay, I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying! Jeez, Meems, keep your hair on!" he shouted at the ceiling.

Benny's stomach dropped. "M-mimi?" he asked, his voice quavering. Without pausing to think about it, he cried to the heavens. "Mimi? Can you hear me? Oh Mimi, I am so sorry! Please-"

_Whack!_

"OW!" Benny rubbed the back of his head where the empty Stoli bottle had just hit him. "What the fuck was that for?"

"For being an idiot," Roger spat. "Leave my Mimi alone, if you know what's good for you."

"Okay …" he compiled shakily, still massaging the tender spot on the back of his bald head. Roger then perked up.

"Hey, they're here! C'mon and check this out!" He grabbed Benny and dragged him toward his window.

"Oh my god …"

Hundreds and hundreds of ghost floated through the frosty Manhattan air. He recognized so many of them. Gordon, from Life Support. The Bag Lady, from his old days on Avenue B. Squeegee Man, who he had once kicked off of his car. And-

"April!" The redhead floated over to the window, grinning. Her eyes were sunken into her hollow face, and there were two dark lines marring her pale wrists.

"Hey Benny!" she laughed, and sobered up at once when she noticed who he was with. "Roger," she greeted him solemnly, her head bowed.

Roger rolled his eyes. "Hi April," he said tiredly. He leaned over and hissed in Benny's ear. "She's still cut up about me and Mimi."

"Quite literally," Benny added with a forced chuckle.

Roger laughed as he clambered out the window. "Okay Benny, the first ghost should be here in about a half-hour, so I would get some rest, if I were you. You're in for a hell of a night!" With a last smirk in his direction, Roger zoomed off into the darkness, the rest of the bohemian ghosts in toe.

Benny stood there for a few seconds, staring into the inky black sky. Without warning, he keeled over in a dead faint. A half hour later, he awoke to the sound of a quiet, rhythmic tapping coming from his bedroom.

**(A/N: Yay! Roger came out pretty good I think. Next chapter should be pretty long, with Benny visiting his past and all. Okay, I have a deal for you guys:**

**If you can guess who the three ghosts are in the right order, I will give you a cameo. Just review or PM me with your guess, and be sure to include your physical description! **

**Thanks for reading!) **


	3. How Do You Leave the Past Behind?

**(A/N: An update! Gasp! Sorry that took so long …**

**Oh my god, my reviewers, you guys rock my world! You can still guess on the remaining ghosts after this chapter .. so far no one's been close! This chappie is really, really long, and should be pretty serious. Enjoy luvvies!)**

Chapter Three: How Do You Leave the Past Behind?

Benny's eyelids fluttered open at the stroke of midnight. Roger's parting shot came rushing back to him: _You're in for a hell of a night!_ He laid there, barely daring to breathe, listening to his apartment for the slightest hint of ghostly presence. The only thing that seemed out of place was a quiet, rhythmic tapping, coming from the direction of his bedroom.

Benny groaned as he lifted himself off the floor. _I am was officially too old for all this excitement_, he thought bitterly as he began to creep toward his bedroom.

The heavy wooden door to his room was slightly ajar. A thin ribbon of light, like the solitary thread of a spider web, shot into the darkness of the hallway. The tapping was growing increasingly louder with each step he took; Benny could also hear a muted humming. Swallowing the fear that had risen in his throat, Benny cautiously pressed his eye to slot … and gasped.

Angel Dumott Schunard **(A/N: yay!)** was perched on the edge of his bed, drumming softly on her pickle tub while humming a little tune. Decked out in all her Santa dress glory, the drag queen looked just as alive as she did all those years ago, on that fateful Christmas Eve. Suddenly, she looked up, straight at the door.

"Hey sugar!" she chirped, setting aside the tub and bounding toward the door, "C'mon in- I wanna get a good look at you!

Angel flung the door open, beaming at him. Benny blinked up at her in the sudden light. The next thing he knew, he was being hauled to his feet and enveloped in a big bear hug.

"Ack! Angel … can't … _breathe_ …"

Angel giggled. "Sorry honey, its just fabulous to see your gorgeous face again! Though, I must say," she added, "that you really haven't been taking good care of yourself. I mean, when was the last time you washed that shirt?"

"Hey … I wash my clothes," Benny mumbled defensively. _I am arguing with a dead drag queen over whether or not I wash my clothes. Wow … _

"Ri-i-i-i-ight." Angel leapt to her feet, tugging at his arm. "Well, time's a-wasting, and we have a lot to get through tonight. I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past, baby, and you sure have a hell of a past! C'mon, let's get you set." She dragged him toward the window. Benny froze.

"Angel … I can't fly," he told her, eyeing the window apprehensively. A part of him was laughing cynically at his last sentence_. Well, no shit you can't fly. No one can fly. Oh, except the random ghosts of your AIDS infected ex-friends who keep popping up. Can't forget about them, can we?_

Angel merely laughed. "Oh, I can take care of that. Don't you worry your cute little shiny bald head about it," she said as she pulled her sticks from the pickle tub. "Now, hold on to this, sugar, and away we go!"

And then they were in the air, soaring through the murky black skies of Manhattan. Tears stung Benny's eyes as the icy air whipped around him. The glittery Manhattan skyline winked and twinkled up at him. He could barely make out the fuzzy red figure that was Angel in front of him.

"First stop: your dorm at Brown!" he heard Angel call faintly over the rushing wind. In an instant, he was standing on the ugly maroon carpet of his old dorm room. The beds were messy and unkempt; there were clothes strewn everywhere. The walls were covered with tattered posters and clippings from "The Village Voice." Snow was piling on the dirty window frame. Benny felt a fond grin spread slowly across his face as he noticed a younger version of himself sitting in the room. This Benny had hair (albeit, it was buzz cut, but hey, hair is hair!) and a goatee somewhat similar to that of Collins. He was stretched out on his bed, buried in a book: 10 Steps to A Better You! By Karessa Johnson. 

Angel giggled. "Aw, you look cute with hair, babe."

"Um, thanks," Benny said uncertainly. The smile felt odd, out of place on his face. He was so used to the perpetual frown.

"You were always eager to please. Look at you, trying to make yourself better than you already are. As if getting into Brown wasn't good enough. Enough was never good enough, was it, honey?" Angel pried gently.

Benny sighed, the smile gone. "I guess not."

"Well, all that's about to change," Angel smirked at him. Out of the blue, the door to the dorm banged open with a sudden _CRASH._ The younger Benny gave a start, and hastily stowed his book under a pile of papers. Angel suppressed a loud snort.

"I am so fucking SICK of this!"

A younger Mark Cohen stalked into the room, throwing his bag down on one of the beds. Benny was shocked at how different he looked. This Mark's hair was exceptionally blonder, with the absence of grey hairs. He did not have the worry lines that the old Mark had, or the dull, flat look in his eye. Benny felt a wave of sadness wash over him as he came to the realization that Mark was still very young; he shouldn't look nearly as old as he did. The agony of life in Alphabet City had changed him.

"Sugar … pay attention!" Angel hissed at him. Benny jumped, jolted from his depressing train of thought, and hastily focused his attention on the drama unfolding before him.

" – and everyone here has giant sticks up their asses! I mean, would it kill them to be _creative_, for once in their little hardwired minds? What is so fucking hard about thinking outside the box?" Mark was ranting, pacing the room, not even caring if Benny was listening or not. However, Benny was listening- with an odd mixture of horror, admiration, and sympathy, the younger Benny sat at rapt attention, drinking in every one of Mark's furious words.

Mark abruptly stopped pacing. He looked Benny straight in the eye, and uttered the two words that would alter the course of both their lives forever: "I'm leaving."

"You're … _what?_"

"I'm leaving," Mark repeated, almost wonderingly. He laughed suddenly. "Hell, that feels good to say. I'm finally leaving, Benny. I don't wanna be a fucking lawyer. I wanna be a director, Benny, and I'm sure as hell gonna do it before its too late," he explained as he began to grab clothes off the floor and stuff them into his book bag.

The young Benny scrambled off the bed. "But, Mark … you can't leave. You worked so hard to get here, you can't just … where the hell will you _go_?"

Mark paused to think. "I'll call my old friend from High School," he said firmly, "I know Roger's living in New York City somewhere – I'll live with him."

The younger version of Benny sat heavily on his bed. The old Benny watched his younger self struggle with the raging internal battle. He could practically hear his thoughts: _Take a chance, Benny. You know you don't want to be a lawyer; you want to be an artist. Mark's your only friend… you _have_ to stay with him. _His cowed, logical side would protest weakly: _But I can't disappoint my family! They want me to do this, and I can't just abandon everything I've strived for! _The rebel in him would fight back: _Yes, you can. Mark is. You only strived for it because your father wanted you too. You know what you want, Benny. Follow your heart, for once in you fucking life. _There was no point in narrating this to himself, really; he already knew who would win.

"I'm coming with you."

Mark looked up, shocked. "W-what?" he stuttered.

"I'm coming with you." The young Benny leaped up, pacing the room like Mark had. "I fucking hate this, Mark! Don't you get it? I can't do this anymore. I never wanted any of this. All I ever wanted was to be able to draw, to sketch, to paint, and I'm stuck at a fucking law school! I'm coming with you, 'cause if I don't go now, I never will."

Mark blinked at this sudden outburst. Then, a gigantic grin spread over slowly over his pale face. "Benny … you are the best friend ever, man! Me and you … we are going to fucking rock! New York City, here we come!" He enveloped Benny in a tight bear hug. Laughing, young Benny returned the hug.

Benny felt a pit settle in his stomach as Mark and his younger counterpart immersed themselves in plans for escape. Angel threw Benny a furtive glance. "You okay, honey?"

Benny sighed. "Yeah - its just - we were so excited and sure we were going to succeed and all …"

Angel pursed her lips. "Is that all? You're not … oh, I don't know … guilty or something?"

Benny looked up at her, surprised. "No, why would I be guilty?" he asked, honestly confused.

"Ahem … and I quote: 'Benny, you are the best friend ever, man!' And quote."

"Oh." The pit in Benny's stomach grew heavier. This man, who he had once referred to as his 'best friend', now worked for him, and was forced to call him Mr. Coffin. What had happened?

_You grew up_, a nasty little voice inside him hissed, _that's what happened. You finally woke up and smelled the roses. _

Angel grabbing his arm jerked him from his train of thought. "C'mon, _chico_, next stop!"

"Wait – _whoa_!"

The floor beneath them fell out. They were falling, spiraling through nothing and everything at once. Benny was spinning through darkness, drowning in the overwhelming black …

And then he was on his feet again, in once piece, if not a little worse for wear mentally.

They were deep in the jungle that was Alphabet City. Benny hadn't realized how much he missed it until he was standing there: right in the alley next to the loft. Benny breathed in the heady mix of piss, pot and smog that smothered the air as he gazed around at the damp, graffiti-ridden walls. Huddled in a corner, he saw a small, dark figure sobbing, lamplight bouncing off her cinnamon skin. With a jolt, Benny realized what was going on.

"Oh no … no, you can't show me this," he said hoarsely, his voice shaking only slightly.

"Sorry, honey, but you have no choice," Angel told him sadly as the younger Benny tentatively crept down the alleyway.

"Hello?" the young Benny called. His eyes widened as he saw the dark figure. "Oh my gosh," he gasped as he rushed toward her, "Are you alright?" **(A/N: Hehe … Benny saying "oh my gosh" makes me laugh .. XD)**

Young Benny pulled the person to her feet. The waifish figure of Mimi Marquez unfolded before him, her hair streaming down her torn clothes, her makeup smeared and muddy on her perfect face.

"Yeah …" Mimi replied, her voice thick. "Yeah … I'll be okay. Stupid dealer …" she muttered, straightening her clothes and sweeping her hair over her shoulder. She noticed Benny standing there awkwardly and flashed him a bright smile.

"I'm Mimi." She held out her hand.

"Benny." He gave it a single pump. There was an uncomfortable silence, which Benny ended with a clear of his throat.

"Listen, you look like you're in pretty bad shape. Why don't you come back to my place? I could … fix you… or something," he asked timidly. Mimi let out a tinkling laugh. The older Benny felt a shiver go up his spine. He had nightmares about that laugh: it was the carefree call of an eagle in the sky, the rustling of leaves from a lazy summer breeze, the lapping of waves on a distant shore. It was so beautiful, so blithe.

"That would be greatly appreciated," Mimi smiled at him. Then, she sobered up. "Thanks," she added, sincerity ringing in her tone.

Benny laughed nervously. "No problem," he said. As he led her away by the elbow, Angel and the older Benny could hear the unforgettable line: "You know, you look familiar …"

And then there was silence. Benny stood there in the dank alley, shaking. She was there. She was _right there_ in front of him, so close, so alive. Gone were her pale, chapped lips, her wan face, her lank hair. Her eyes sparkled and danced, her heart beat a tattoo against her chest, her limbs moved as sensually as they always did. There she was, living and breathing and laughing and loving: his beautiful Mimi.

"You loved her," Angel said quietly. It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Yes," Benny answered in monotone. There was no point in denying it.

"And she left you," Angel stated.

Benny squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the raw truth of her words. "Yes," he whispered. "Because I was married. To _Allison_."

Angel let out a sigh. "Well, I hate to say this, sugar, but that _was_ a man-whorey thing to do."

Benny swallowed the growing lump in his throat. "I know. I didn't want to ruin my success I had gained. So I stayed with Allison, and loved with Mimi."

"You can't get everything you want, honey."

"I've noticed."

Angel let Benny stew for a few moments before clutching his arm again. "Okay, _next_!" she trilled, yanking him into the pressing, groping darkness …

They landed abruptly, blinking in the sudden light. "And I'm sure you recognize _this_!" Angel yelled over the noise, grinning.

Benny let a smile grace his worn features. It was the fateful Christmas at the Life Café, during which the bohos danced on the tables and showed Mr. Grey exactly who was boss. He looked up at the table just in time to see Mark smirk and say: "Mucho Masturbation."

He heard a frustrated sigh from behind him. Turning, Benny noticed the younger Benny, bowing his head in shame at the antics of his old friend. Despite himself, Benny grinned. _Take that, younger self!_

"They buried me in that skirt," Angel commented casually. Benny nodded, and then let the reality of her words crash down on him.

They had _buried_ her in that skirt. Angel was dead. She was never coming back. All the people dancing on the tables – gone. Here they looked so happy and free, satisfied with flipping of the yuppie scum. Benny realized that now was the last time he see these people living, _truly living_ – and took it all in.

Roger, his wild curls flying behind him. Collins, his beanie slipping off his head. Mimi, laughing as she flipped of Mr. Grey with Mark. Angel, her wig sticking out at odd angles. Benny felt that resilient lump rise in his throat again. How could a mere few years change these obscene rebels into pale, broken corpses?

"Remember how much you wanted to join them? To just jump up onto that table and flip off your father-in-law?" Angel pried.

"Um … yeah." He did remember. It was so hard – _La Vie Boheme_ was such a horrible temptation. He remembered how much he wanted to leap up there and never look back – to spend the rest of his life in the sordid little village where everyone felt with such startling passion. Yet, he had stayed in his chair, pretending to be annoyed with his ex-friends, toeing the line.

"I didn't –"

"Want to ruin your success. Yeah, I know," Angel cut him off. There was a coarse edge in her voice, a biting sarcasm, almost a raw anger. It marred her usually dulcet tones, making Benny cringe.

"Last one, Benny. Then, it's _his_ turn." Angel grinned and tossed a casual wink at the ceiling as they were enveloped in the crushing dark for the third time. Benny wanted to struggle against it. _I don't want to leave them yet! Can't you see they're alive? I need to engrave that in my memory forever!_

Alas, his feeble protests were to no avail. He landed in his office, of all places. Looking back, Benny saw his slightly younger self seated at the desk, impatiently flipping through his contacts on his phone. It was shocking how the few years had aged him. This new Benny was lined with stress, and there was a tiredness in his eyes was not just from physical exhaustion, but the toll of life.

The other Benny dialed a number on his phone. Angel and Benny leaned in to hear the conversation.

"Hello, Cohen?" the other Benny barked, and the present Benny felt his insides shrivel: he knew which instance it was, and he did not want to relive it. "Why haven't you been at work the past week? I'm half in mind to fire you now!"

There was a strangled sob from the other end. "B-benny … Benny, M-mimi's d-dead …" Mark whispered, his voice shaking uncontrollably.

The younger Benny's face went blank. It just was wiped of any emotion whatsoever. "I see," he said finally, monotonously. "Well then, Cohen, I will give you another week off. But straight back to work by next Tuesday." A choked sigh of consent was his only reply as the line went dead.

Benny watched as his younger self stared at the phone, his face still strangely blank. Then, he burst into hysterical sobs, wracking his whole frame, breaking him from the inside. The younger Benny slid out of his chair, taking up residence beneath his desk. He was immersed in a pool of anguish – and he would not resurface for a long time.

Benny remembered it. He remembered the sheer, raw pain, hot knives piercing through his heart, tearing at his brain. He remembered the agony, the grief throttling him, cutting him off, extinguishing his internal fire …

Mimi was gone. Dead. Only shell left of the vivacious dancer who had twirled her way into his heart. The dance that was Mimi Marquez, his one and only true love, was over.

Benny closed his eyes, blocking out the pain. He felt a tear trickle down his cheek as the as a faraway clock struck one. As all time and space rushed by him again, Benny lost himself in his sea of emotion, in the raw realization, in the stress, the anger …

He hit his bed with an _oof!_ It was dark, yes, but not the crushing darkness of the scene changes. It was the normal dark of his bedroom at night. Benny sat straight up in bed, looking at his surroundings with wide eyes. Everything seemed to be in order – except the light worming his was under his door, trickling in from his kitchen and the familiarly acrid smell that perfumed the air.

Benny groaned. It was going to be a _very_ long night.

**(A/N: God, that took a long time. You can still guess on the two remaining ghosts. I have some hints in this chapter as too who they're gonna be. Remember to include your description so I can accurately put you in! Review .. that little bluish purple button is calling you, and you know it!**

**Oh … if you can find the Jonathan Larsen reference in here, I'll give you a cyber-cookie … XD) **


	4. No Day But Today

**(A/N: I am so sorry that took so long! I've been so busy with my winter concerts, and all my friends having emotional breakdowns I have to deal with, and shit like that .. the next update will definitely be quicker.**

**My fair fans, we have a winner! The winner of the cameo contest in none other than the lovely … **_**GingerGlinda!**_** Look for her in the last chapter .. trust me, you'll be wishing you were her .. XD**

**So here's the next chapter. I'm gonna try and break all your hearts here, people. You have been warned.**

**Wow. Longest Author's Note ever.)**

Chapter Four: No Day But Today

The merry, flickering light dancing under his shut door and the bittersweet perfume in the air told Benny that another ghostly presence was in his apartment. As the clock stuck one, he crept cautiously out of the dark room and into the blinding glow exploding from the kitchen. He blinked in the sudden light. Out here, the pungent smell was even stronger; Benny wrinkled his nose, yet there was something about it that was oddly comforting. A laugh boomed out toward him, followed by the sound of clinking bottles.

"Benny! Come on, man! I don't exactly have all night here!" a resonant voice roared through the brightness. Benny felt a jolt of recognition.

"Er … I'm coming!" Benny called weakly as he tiptoed down the hallway and into the kitchen. _I don't know how much more of this I can take, _he thought bitterly as he peered through the light. Slowly but surely, Benny was able to make out the imposing figure of Thomas B. Collins **(A/N: huggles!)** casually tipping back on two legs of his favorite chair, laughing.

"Benjamin Coffin the Third! Merry Christmas, bitch! Long time, no see!" Collins grinned as he leaped to his feet and enveloped him in a suffocating hug. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Benny reflected that this was the second time in one night he was being crushed by a ghost.

Benny looked up at his old friend. Physically, Collins looked the same – the old beanie, his prized leather coat, a joint hanging out of his mouth. He looked healthier than Benny could remember to have seen him, with meat on his bones and a goatee that lacked the wisps of graying hair. However, there was a strange light in his eyes; it seemed oddly familiar, yet Benny could not place it.

Collins chuckled as he took in Benny's dazed expression. "Angelcake told me you were a little freaked out by all this," he commented, flashing a grin at the ceiling. With a jolt, Benny realized that the light in Collins' eyes came from love – he was with his Angel again, and blissfully content.

"You_ do_ seem a little messed up," Collins observed matter-of-factly. "Luckily, I am always prepared in the face of an emergency, and have a feast here for you, my friend." He gestured to the small assortment of goods on the table. "We have Capt'n Crunch, we have Stoli, and we have weed. What more could you want?" He lifted the joint to his mouth and took a long drag. "Come and sit with me."

Benny stood rooted to the cold tiles for a few seconds, before sliding into a chair next to him. Collins gestured to the small feast in front of him as he took another long drag from his joint. Benny apprehensively lifted the bottle of Stoli to his lips and took a small swig. It seemed real enough.

Collins laughed again. "That's the spirit, boy!" he boomed, but sobered up almost at once. "Or maybe not. That's why I'm here, ain't it? To make you joyful and generous and able to foster a goodwill toward mankind. Though," he added, eyeing his joint thoughtfully "weed can do the same thing, but the Ghost of Christmas Present sounds much more impressive, doesn't it?"

"Um … sure?"

"Sure as hell it does."

There was a silence. Collins merely took another drag from his joint. Eventually, Benny cleared his throat.

"What? Oh." Collins jumped, evidentially remembering his task. "Okay, lets get this show on the road. Come on, up you get." He hoisted Benny to his feet. "Here." Collins thrust his precious beanie into his hands. "Wear this."

Benny looked at it reverently. He had never actually gotten to touch the beanie before. It was a sacred moment. "Are you sure?" he asked timidly.

Collins rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm sure, you dipshit! Now put that on" –he jammed the beanie onto Benny's head – "and away we go!"

And then they were in the night sky again, soaring through the twisting streets of Alphabet City. Benny swooped down over a tent city, seeing broken figures huddled around their makeshift fires, craving the warmth. Each lonely, fallible person was a story in itself, a tale unraveled. One lone figure was humming some sort of twisted carol to himself: "… no room at the Holiday Inn, oh no! And it's beginning to snow …"

"Christmas, ABC city style," Collins muttered, watching the shadows dance off of the dilapidated buildings. They hovered for a few more seconds, before Collins dragged him through the bone-chilling air and down Avenue A. They glided right through a building (Benny winced horribly, but managed to regain his composure) and right into the loft, of all places.

Benny grinned. Ah, the loft. It looked much cleaner than he remembered, but some attributes to the old life remained: for instance, the mold on the kitchen wall had sprouted another grey-green branch. Mark sat on the couch, cleaning his camera lens. All was tranquil; it could have just been another day at the loft. As though designed to upset the delicate calm of the room, the door banged open.

"Marky!" In all her diva glory, the voluptuous figure of Maureen Johnson stood silhouetted in the doorway, her dramatic pose offset slightly by the large box she was carrying. Mark jumped up, startled, before collapsing weakly onto the couch again.

"Jeez, Mo," he panted, staring at her with wide eyes, "Don't do that!"

"Sorry, Marker," she giggled. "I'm just full of the Christmas Spirit, I guess." With an _oof,_ she dropped the box off on the table. "Damn, its so fucking _cold_ in here!"

"What else is new?" Mark scoffed, then leaned in eagerly. "What's that?"

"Chinese food!" Maureen exploded gleefully. "Yes – I, Maureen Johnson, have "borrowed" some of your money and splurged on a Christmas Feast for all of us! And I'm home a hour earlier than I told Pookie – can you imagine how surprised she'll be when she sees me home with _food_?" she said enthusiastically, her eyes wide.

"Probably not as surprised as Miranda."

"True." Maureen collapsed onto the couch next to him. Mark cleared his throat pointedly.

"What?"

"Any particular reason why you're being so nice?" Mark asked with an arched eyebrow. Maureen grinned.

" 'Cause it's the anniversary of _everything_," she said simply. Mark smiled, remembering the happier times. Oh yes – that one magic night that altered the course of history for ever more.

"Auntie Moo! Auntie Moo!" A small, dark haired figure came barreling out one of the rooms. It was the frail figure of Miranda Davis, Mimi and Roger's little daughter. She wrapped her arms around Maureen's legs, laughing.

Benny stood rooted to the spot, shocked. The resemblance between her and Mimi was uncanny: they had the same soulful brown eyes, the same waterfall of curly hair, the same smooth cinnamon skin. Most of all, they shared that same special something that made Benny love Mimi so much –the sparkle in her eyes, the tinkling tone of her laugh, the delicate way her body moved was all reproduced in miniature.

Maureen gave a false shriek of fright. "Minachica!" she gasped dramatically, clutching her heaving chest, "Don't scare me like that!" Miranda giggled, pleased with the play-acting. _Maureen must be great with children, _Benny though, amused. _She finally has someone who likes the drama. _ Miranda's eyes widened as she sniffed the air.

"Uncle Marky! Auntie Moo brought _food!_" she gasped, glee lighting up her little face. Mark chuckled.

"Yes she did, honey. How about you and me set the table, okay? We want to surprise Auntie Jojo, don't we?"

"Yep!" Miranda chirped, skipping over to take his hand. As if on cue, a thoroughly ragged-looking Joanne came through the door, overstuffed briefcase in hand.

"Hey Mark," she said wearily, throwing her bag down. "I didn't have time to pick up –" she broke off, stiffing the air. Slowly, she turned to see a grinning Maureen standing by the Chinese food.

"Sweet and Sour sauce for your dumplings?" Maureen offered innocently, holding up a white carton. **(A/N: Mo is so dirty .. I love it.)**

In two strides, Joanne crossed the room and enveloped her lover in a passionate embrace. Tenderly, she pressed her lips against Maureen's, muttering "You're amazing" before launching into a heated kiss. Mark quickly averted his eyes, but not before Benny could notice the shadow of pain marring his fragile blue. _Once the lesion has been made, the wound never fully heals_, Benny reflected wryly. _I would know._

The kiss was broken by Miranda pulling on the leg of Joanne's pantsuit. "Auntie Jojo?" she asked, timid. Joanne broke the kiss and smiled down at her.

"Why, hello there young lady. Do you need something?" she asked, mock-surprised. Miranda giggled again. Apparently, she was a big fan of play-acting.

"Food," she stated matter-of-factly. Everyone laughed appreciatively.

"Amen!" Maureen hollered. She began loading the food onto the coffee table. "Okay, I got veggie dumplings, I got Moo-Shu pork, I got Young Chow Fried Rice – without the shrimp, Marky, 'cause I know you're allergic – I got Lo Main and Chow Main and all the other Mains, and … I got _Stoli!_ And grape juice for the midget, of course. Dig in, my friends!"

Mark ran into the kitchen, grabbed a handful of utensils, and sprinted back to the couch. Everyone grabbed whatever he or she needed and dug in. It was obvious that abundant food was a luxury around the loft: for several minutes, everyone was too busy stuffing his or her face to talk. Then, after three quarters of the food was gone, Mark spoke up.

"So … I believe a toast is in order." He raised his bottle of Stoli. "To Benjamin Coffin the Third, the provider of this meal!" Everyone stared at him, dumbfounded. Maureen snorted loudly.

"As if. Never will I toast that bastard, except if I'm toasting his ass on an open fire," she spat. Joanne nudged her.

"Language, Honeybear," she admonished. "But I do agree … he's pays Mark more than I normally get, so he puts food on the table, whether he likes it or not."

"Ri-i-i-ght. Well, it would be better if he paid for the AZT, at least."

"Beggars can't be choosers, Mo. And we are most certainly beggars," Mark said dryly. Joanne laughed.

"Exactly. Come on, Maureen. Drink to his health." She raised her bottle encouragingly.

Maureen pouted, then sighed. "Fine … to Benjamin Coffin, who pays Marky," she mumbled grudgingly before taking a swig.

"See … that wasn't so hard, now, was it?" Mark grinned at her.

"Shut up." There were another few minutes of silence, before Maureen's natural enthusiasm took hold.

"So, Christmas it tomorrow, Mina!" she squealed through a mouthful of Moo-Shu pork. "Aren't you excited?"

"Uh-huh!" Miranda chirped. Then, bashfully, "Uncle Marky? Is Santa really gonna climb down the fire escape and bring me a new doll?"

Mark exchanged a glance with Joanne. Joanne nodded ever so slightly. Mark relaxed, grinning. "He sure is!"

"That's good!" Miranda smiled, then stiffened, a look of horror crossing her face. "Oh my gosh! Oh no!" All the color drained out of Mark's face. He leaned forward, gripping her arm.

"What? What happened? Do you feel sick? Do you need your inhaler?" he demanded urgently. Maureen poised herself, ready to spring to the phone if necessary.

"No …" Miranda wailed. "We didn't make Santa _cookies!_ He won't come if we don't have milk and cookies!"

"Oh …" Mark relaxed, taking a deep breath. Maureen let out a nervous giggle.

"I'm on top of it, Minachica!" she grinned, producing three fortune cookies from the box. "Tada! Santa gets a yummy treat _and_ his future read! Do you think you'll maybe get an extra toy for that?" Joanne shot her a look, and Maureen quickly backtracked. "You probably won't … Santa gets his fortune read all the time … he has a special elf that can see the future for him!" she invented wildly.

"Really?" Miranda's eyes were as big as saucers. "What's its name?"

"Um … Evita," Maureen said seriously, glancing at the two adults out of the corner of her eye. Mark stifled his snort of laughter, and the corners of Joanne's mouth twitched.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

The jarring, discordant alarm shattered the warm tranquility of the loft. Benny jumped. The dynamics of the cute little family had seduced him, tricked him, gave him false hope that all was well in their small world. And yet, the elusive shadow that is death was there: it tossed aside its painted mask, and unfurled itself for the entire world to plainly see.

"AZT break," Maureen muttered, and then made her voice falsely cheery. "Okay, honey, time for your vitamin!"

"But I don't _wanna_," Miranda whined.

"Don't let Santa hear you saying that," Mark warned. "After all, its not Christmas yet!"

Miranda let loose a dramatic sigh worth of Maureen. "Fine," she huffed, and held out her hand for the pill. Maureen pulled the small white bottle out of her bag and gave her one. Miranda inspected it, holding the tiny pill up to the light.

"Mommy and Daddy used to take these," she announced wonderingly.

"Yes, they did," Mark said, a fond smile spreading across his face. Miranda brightened.

"I'm just like them, aren't I? We take the same vitamin!" she grinned proudly. The smile slid off of Mark's worn face. He sat there like a broken doll whose paint is cracked and faded, unable to talk. It was Joanne who answered her instead.

"You sure are, honey! Now hurry up and take that pill!" she said brightly, trying to mask the grief and pain in her voice. Miranda gulped it down. She sat there for a few seconds, pondering.

"Uncle Marky?"

Mark cleared his throat, trying to regain composure. "Yes?"

"I miss Mommy and Daddy," she said timidly, her voice small and sad.

Mark died a little inside. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the unbearable pain these five little words caused him. "I miss them too, Miranda," he whispered, his voice breaking horribly.

Benny felt a surge of rage. Life was so incredibly unfair to Mark. Everything he needed in life was taken away from him. Not wanted – needed. He needed Mimi to remind him that there was spontaneity and laughter left even in the darkest of times. He needed Collins to reassure him that there was some goodness left in the cold, unfeeling city of neon and chrome. He needed Roger to force him to live, not to detach from being alive. He needed Angel to tell him to follow his heart, his passion, his life.

Maureen sniffed loudly. Joanne assumed responsibility.

"Bedtime, honey. Say goodnight," she told her, sounding like she had a bad head cold.

Miranda smiled softly. " 'Night, Auntie Moo and Uncle Marky." She kissed them both on the forehead. "I love you both so much."

"We love you too, honey," Maureen said softly.

"Sweet dreams," Mark added hoarsely as Joanne lead her away by the hand. There was a moment of silence. Then, Maureen was in Mark's arms, clutching his sweater frantically, trying to muffle her sobs. Mark wrapped his arms tightly around her, letting his tears leak onto her curly hair. They stayed like that for a while, not talking, just listening to Joanne sing Miranda to bed.

" …the story never ends … Let's celebrate, remember a year in the life of friends! Remember the love … oh you got to, you got to remember the love!" Joanne's sweet voice broke a little as she tried to keep control. She was not just singing a lullaby, but a reassurance. A plea to remember the time when they were happy, they were free, they were whole.

Benny gazed sadly at the two shattered figures sitting on the couch, his heart breaking. Why? Why _them?_ The question chased itself around in Benny's mind as the scene in front of him dissolved into the city street below.

"Depressing, isn't it?" Benny started. He had forgotten completely about Collins. Collins stood there, pain evident on every inch of his face. It killed him to see his friends like this.

"Yeah …" Benny muttered, trying to keep the tears in his eyes from brimming over. He cleared his throat. "Is she … going to live?"

"Not for long." These three words pierced Benny's mutilated heart better than any knife ever could.

"There's no way … no one can save her …?"

"Perhaps. If you tried." Collins turned to glare at him. Benny winced.

"Its not my business –" This was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

"Is it ever your business? When your friends are cold and freezing because of you, is it your business? When hundreds of homeless people are beaten by cops _you_ put on standby, is it your business? When the love of your life dies and leaves her dying child behind, IS IT YOUR BUSINESS?" Collins thundered, his eyes piercing.

Benny defended himself weakly. "I didn't want to start trouble. I just wanted –"

"– TO SUCCEED!" Collins roared. "Well, here you have it. Your what your success has produced." With that, he cast aside his coat to reveal two starving children. Their eyes were dark and haunted, their cheekbones sunken in, their bones showing through their tattered rags. Benny recoiled, horrified.

"Meet Ignorance and Want, Benny. Fear them, especially Want. Yeah, you _wanted_ to succeed. Well, join the club. Everyone _wanted_ to succeed. More than that, everyone _wanted_ to keep living under a roof, or in whatever little makeshift area they could find. But you didn't give a shit what they _wanted_, did you?" Collins snarled, advancing.

Benny spluttered incomprehensibly at him, terrified.

"No, Benny, you only cared about yourself. That's why Mimi left you in the end. That's why you lost all your friends. You only want for yourself, not anyone else!" With that parting shot, Collins crumpled onto the broken sidewalk just as the clock struck two.

**(A/N: Wow. This chapter was an emotional rollercoaster for me. I actually cried while writing about Miranda missing her mom and dad .. which like never happens. Did I break your hearts? You were warned, I must say. The beginning was funnier than had intended, so it offset the entire piece nicely. I mean, if that wasn't funny, I might have killed myself due to extreme depression! **

**Moving on .. yay! Mojo and Marky!! I LOVE WRITING MAUREEN!!! IT MAKES ME HAPPY!!!! You'll see more Mojo and Collins/Maureen friendship coming from me, let me tell you.**

**Okay, next chapter: Benny comes to terms with his past. Second to last chapter. I'll update soon, don't you worry .. XD).**


	5. The Heat of the Future's Glow

**(A/N: I WILL finish this before Christmas, dammit! The last chapter will be up ON CHRISTMAS, so y'all can read it while escaping the annoying family members who always ask you "So, honey, have any new boyfriends?" .. grr .. damn them.**

**Damn .. I hurt my finger and I have absolutely no inspiration, so I'm forcing this chapter out of my ass. Sorry if it sucks. **

**So, this chapter will be fucking scary. I'm sure most of you know that this ghost will be Mimi in all her glory. Enjoy the Benny/Mimi horror!**

**I. HAVE. CRAMPS. OW-OW-FUCKITY-OW!!! FUCKY McFUCKERSTEIN!!)**

Chapter Five: The Heat of the Future's Glow

Benny rushed over to the spot on the sidewalk where Collins had collapsed. All that remained was his dirty, ragged coat. A bellowing silence, broken only by the far-off sound of a cop car, enveloped Benny in its crushing power. Gingerly, he prodded the coat with him toe. It twitched once, twice, and then rose up into the frosty air, writhing and twisting into a thin, cloaked figure.

Benny blinked up at the person. The shadow from the volumous hood hid its face from view. He cleared his throat.

"Are you the Ghost of Christmas Future?" he asked, a slight quaver barely detectable in his monotone. After all he had been through that night, he was more numb than anything, though waves of genuine terror kept shaking his frame.

The figure nodded curtly, and raised a hand to point up at the loft above them. The hand was small, tapered, with skin the color of brown sugar and long, ornately painted nails. Somewhere in Benny's subconscious, a light bulb of recognition went off. Then, the scene around them fluidly shifted into the loft they had been in moments before.

Benny was shocked at how different it was. The loft still looked the same, true, but the air was stale, flat, lacking the spark of love he was so accustom to. A drawn-looking Maureen lay listless on the couch, entwined with a sleeping Joanne. She looked up as the door opened.

Mark entered. His blonde hair was closer to white than ever before, and whole new lines had formed in his translucent skin. He looked ancient, worn from the anguish that life had so unfairly thrust upon him. Even his eyes – his ever bright, soft blue eyes, always alert and ever so caring – looked murky and dark, as though a film of sadness had developed over them.

Wordlessly, he collapsed on the couch next to them. For a while, they sat there, none of them talking in the empty silence. Predictably, Maureen was the first one to speak.

"You got the plot, then?" Her voice was unnaturally dispassionate and quiet.

"Yes." The single word, forced out between cracked and faded lips, held more raw pain than Benny could have possibly imagined. He cringed away, horrified, as Mark continued.

"– quiet place, right next to Mimi and Roger. There's a little tree … it gets pink blossoms in the spring. I thought … she always was partial to pink," he finished, his voice cracking. Maureen reached over to hug him.

"I miss her," Joanne whispered, tears leaking down her unusually wan cheeks. "This is just ridiculous. Why her? Why take a little girl?" Mark leaped up, suddenly furious, anguished, an icy fire burning in his eyes.

"Why anyone, Jo? Why Mimi, or Collins? Why Roger … oh god, Roger …" The fire was extinguished as the weight of everything crashed onto his shoulders. He sunk down onto the floor, shaking uncontrollably with pure, unadulterated grief. "Why me?" he rasped inaudibly. "Why _me_?" They remained like that as the sun sunk lower in the sky – overcome, emotionally exhausted.

Benny turned to the ghost. "She – Miranda – she died?" he asked, taken aback. The ghost curtly nodded. Benny furrowed his brow. How could anyone allow an innocent child to die, leaving three destroyed adults in her wake?

"But – surely, that could have been prevented. I _know_ she was eligible for better medicine! Surely, if someone had taken the time to sponsor her …" He trailed off, comprehension dawning on him. _Oh, that's right. You should have sponsored her. But it was_ none of your business, _huh?_

The scene around them shifted again. They were now in a dark, yet affluent apartment. Shady, dark figures moved through the filtered light, their voices weaving into a scratchy harmony.

" … think this is worth …"

" … gotta be premium …"

" … family heirloom …"

" … enough to pay off …"

" … trade this for …"

A single conversation drew Benny's attention. Two huddled figures were pouring over a small object that sent dapples of gold dancing around the room. As Benny drew closer, he realized it was his watch, the very watch he was wearing at the moment.

"How much do you think its worth, Erin?" the tall Asian man asked, rubbing his dirty figures across the surface.

"Hmm …" The tall, thin woman that was Erin inspected the surface closely. After a while, she sighed. "Not much at all, Matt … you see, its fake."

Matt arched an eyebrow. "Fake? Wasn't this guy loaded?"

"True, but he was a cheap bastard … never spent money on anything unless he needed to." She leaned in knowingly, the gleam of gossip present in her eyes. "I heard the love of his life's daughter died 'cause no one was there to help them out with the money, while he just sat here … getting old … _finally_ dieing." The shared a wheezy laugh before Erin pressed on. "I think you could get about 10 bucks for this at most. Sorry."

Matt sighed heavily. "S'alright … I'll get the money to pay the Man somewhere else …" He lowered his voice, glancing furtively around the room. "You know where all his money is going?"

"Nope. Probably to the government. Anything else _wasn't his business_, apparently." They laughed again.

Benny felt sick. He had to ask, even though he knew .. he _knew_ who this selfish, cowardly man was, and yet he had to make sure. "Are they talking about me?" he rasped, his throat dry. The ghost only pointed in response.

As if in a dream, Benny moved toward his bedroom door, a dull panic hovering in his subconscious. It was slightly ajar. He pushed it open, …

And came face to face with his own corpse.

The dull panic spiked into his conscious, overtaking him with a rush of adrenaline. The corpse was pale, drawn … its cheeks were hollow, and there was a macabre sadness permanently etched on its face. Benny yelped, and jumped back, only to fall into unending blackness. He landed in a dirt enclosure – his own grave.

"No … please …" He looked up at the ghost, pleading. Flames were licking the sides of the grave. It was being engulfed in the fiery pits of hell, with him inside it. In response to his frantic cries, the ghost tossed aside its cloak.

Mimi.

The skeletal figure of Mimi Marquez towered over Benny's grave. This was not the lively, beautiful Mimi he had seen in his past memories, but a twisted, distorted interpretation of Mimi in her final moments. She was both more terrifying and more beautiful than the real Mimi had been **(A/N: thank you, HP7 .. XD)**. With a cold, accusing finger, she pointed resiliently down into his grave.

"No! Mimi .. please, don't do this to me! Mimi … I love you!" Benny called weakly as the flames crackled around him, the heat choking him. Her bright eyes, now darkened to a liquid black, pierced through the heat waves, boring through his chest and into his soul. It was judgment time, and she pointed again, this time more forcefully. Benny felt something release within him as something else clicked into place.

"I WAS A FOOL!" he bellowed, tears springing up in his eyes. "I WAS AN ASSHOLE WHO ONLY CARED ABOUT HIMSELF … WHO WAS TOO SCARED TO STAND UP FOR WHAT HE BELIEVED IN … WHO ONLY WANTED LOVE, MIMI! ALL I WANTED WAS LOVE … AND I RUINED EVERYTHING!" He got it now. He understood. He knew that you have to stand up for what you believe in, what you want … and you have to put yourself aside to do that. He had pushed away his love by only caring for himself. And now he was being sent to hell, sent by his one true love … the only thing he ever wanted.

The smoke darkened, completely engulfing Mimi, extinguishing the fires, the pain, extinguishing everything …

**(A/N: Ooo, cliffie!**

**This story sucks. It had no common theme. Especially this chapter .. ew, it was short and stupid and had no common link to the rest of the story .. even my creative language hit a new low!!**

**You like those cameos, Erin? Merry Christmas!! .. XD. I'm working on your story, beta-ing it and stuff .. its really quite good. **

**The next chapter should be a lot better though! GingerGlinda will be in it .. (kudos!!) and it will be funnier and more lighthearted … much fluff and Maureen hating Benny goodness!! Yay!!) **


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